


On the Train

by Aloof_Introvert



Category: Alice in Wonderland (Movies - Burton)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mention of Death, Metaphors, Poetry, The Hightopps, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9209636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloof_Introvert/pseuds/Aloof_Introvert
Summary: A poem about Tarrant's quest for revenge against the Red Queen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea while listening to "On the Tram" by Phemiec, a really good TF2 fansong.  
> Loosely connected to part 10 of "Managing the Life of Tarrant Hightopp, and Five Other Impossible Things."

What to do with a man  
Who smolders and thrives in this land  
Of harsh soap and burnt hands,  
Whose mind exhumes his dead clan  
Just to see them again?

On the train,  
You would think nothing of him.  
On the train,  
You would pay him no mind.  
On the train,  
You would wonder if the smokey wind  
And his hat's burdened brim  
Were brothers, of the same kind.

For he assaults your senses  
With his burns and his embers,  
His scar tissue the warmest coat for him.  
And his ghosts that he conjures  
Like hares from his hat,  
And the cold phantom skin,  
I wouldn't dwell upon that

Because the train is on its way to tomorrow.  
Yes, the train has passed you by.  
The man has departed the scene  
With his sword and his scheme,  
And it's a shame you never asked him why.

He only ever travels for revenge, my dear,  
If he was right with the world  
He would be at home.  
But pillars of flame ate the pillars of wood,  
And the fire his family's bones.

The train has become his home now.  
On the train, he can think what he likes.  
On the train he finds solace from his sunny days  
And his countless cold pacing nights.

Because the steam engine keeps moving on,  
Grinding itself to nothing with rust  
And the coal it devours is black like its soul,  
The same shade it was stained by the dust.

For the engine is fueled by what it hates, my dear,  
And so is the flame-hearted man.  
He stitches hats from his fear and his enemies' leers  
And honestly, he does what he can.

He'll do what he can.


End file.
